March 15, 2025
The first month of my study abroad experience in Brazil was marked by silence and isolation. My timidness held me back, and the overwhelming cultural differences left me feeling out of place and detached. Every day felt like a challenge. I was navigating a new language, a new routine, and a new way of life. My host family, Angela and Delmo, were warm and welcoming, but I struggled to find comfort in a space that felt so unfamiliar. I often sat at the dinner table, watching their exchanges, yet feeling like an outsider. I was hesitant to speak, afraid of stumbling over my Portuguese, afraid that I would not be able to express myself. I began to regret my decision to study abroad, questioning why I had left behind the security of home, friends, and family. As the initial excitement of new travel had faded, I found myself longing for something familiar.
One evening, Angela and Delmo had a few guests come over. They were of Russian descent, something very common in Santa Catarina, as most citizens have European lineage, and they began preparing borscht in the house. I was stunned. I could not have imagined encountering Eastern European food in Brazil, let alone in my own host family’s home. The smell of beets filled the kitchen, and I was immediately transported back to Chicago, where I can imagine the warmth of my mom.
In Poland, barszcz (the name of the soup in Polish) is a dish of tradition, made only around Christmas time, but specifically for Christmas Eve. It is a dish made for togetherness, a dish to share with your family, to feel the warmth of the rich broth while surrounded by laughter. Although I cherish this, I hesitated before sharing. I was shy and unsure if my host family and their friends would even find it interesting. But when I did, their eyes lit up, they were beyond excited. They were honored to share this dish with me and suddenly, we were not strangers navigating different worlds, but friends and family connected by a simple bowl of soup.
It was as if the barrier between us had been lifted, and for the first time since arriving in Brazil, I felt truly seen and understood. The act of eating together transformed the unfamiliar into something comforting. My host family, who had once felt distant, now felt closer, as if they had come to understand a part of me that I had struggled to express. This moment became a bridge, linking my Polish heritage to this new Brazilian home.
In a way, food can be expressed as a form of belonging. It speaks to people and entices people to be kind, be considerate, and to enjoy and savor the moments that you spend while sharing what is meaningful to you. It carries stories, memories, and traditions, essentially it was an invitation into my culture, history, and personal experiences. Sentiments of belonging can be derived from the simple act of sharing a meal as every dish tells a story, shaped by the land it comes from and the hands that prepare it. And to share that story with others is to share a part of yourself, to open up, to connect, and to build bridges where differences once stood.
That night, over a bowl of barszcz, I found reassurance. Even in a country where I had once felt lost, a simple homecooked meal had the power to make me feel at home.
